CHAPTER XXV Spurlock pushed back his helmet and sat down in the white sand, buckling his knees and folding his arms around them—pondering. Again silence. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. They concern us all. ‘You mean there isn’t any evidence of a break-in. ” “And you?” “Rather!” “I wonder why?” “There’s no why.
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